As flaws congealed in the spring of day.
His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd:
Chide him for faults, and do it reverently,
When you perceive his blood inclin'd to mirth:
But, being moody, give him line and scope;
Till that his passions, like a whale on ground,
Confound themselves with working. Learn this,
Thomas,

And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends;
A hoop of gold, to bind thy brothers in;
That the united vessel of their blood,
Mingled with venom of suggestion,

(As, force perforce, the age will pour it in,)
Shall never leak, though it do work as strong
As aconitum, or rash gunpowder.

K. HENRY IV., PART II., A. 4, s. 4.

GOOD WILL SOMETIMES SUFFER UNDESERVEDLY.

WHITHER should I fly? I have done no harm. But I remember now I am in this earthly world; where, to do harm, Is often laudable; to do good, sometime, Accounted dangerous folly: Why then, alas! Do I put up that womanly defence,

To

say, I have done no harm?

MACBETH, A. 4, s. 2.

The varying shore o'the world!-0 Antony! Antony, Antony!-Charmian, help; help, Iras; Help, friends below; let's draw him hither. ANTONY. Peace: Not Casar's valour hath o'erthrown Antony, But Antony's hath triumphed on itself.

CLEO. So it should be, that none but Antony Should conquer Antony; but woe 'tis so! ANT. I am dying, Egypt, dying; only I here impórtune death a while, until Of many thousand kisses the poor last I lay upon thy lips

CLEO.

I dare not, dear, (Dear my lord, pardon,) I dare not,

Lest I be taken: not the imperious show
Of the full-fortuned Cæsar ever shall

Be brooch'd with me; if knife, drugs, serpents, have

Edge, sting, or operation, I am safe:

Your wife Octavia, with her modest eyes,
And still conclusion, shall acquire no honour
Demurring upon me.--But come, come, Antony,-
Help me, my women,—we must draw thee
Assist, good friends.

ANT.

up;

O, quick, or I am gone. CLEO. Here's sport, indeed!-How heavy weighs my lord!

Our strength is all gone into heaviness,

That makes the weight: Had I great Juno's power,

The strong-wing'd Mercury should fetch thee

up,

And set thee by Jove's side. Yet come a

little,

Wishers were ever fools;-0, come, come,

come;

And welcome, welcome! die, where thou hast liv'd:

Quicken with kissing; had my lips that power, Thus would I wear them out.

ANT. I am dying, Egypt, dying:

Give me some wine, and let me speak a little. CLEO. No, let me speak; and let me rail so high,

That the false housewife Fortune break her

wheel,

Provok'd by my offence.

One word, sweet queen :

ANT. Of Cæsar seek your honour, with your safety.-O! CLEO. They do not go together.

ANT. Gentle, hear me; None about Cæsar trust, but Proculeius. CLEO. My resolution, and my hands, I'll trust; None about Cæsar.

ANT. The miserable change now at my end, Lament nor sorrow at: but please your thoughts, In feeding them with those my former fortunes, Wherein I liv'd, the greatest prince o'the world,

The noblest and do now not basely die,

:

Nor cowardly; put off my helmet to

My countryman, a Roman, by a Roman
Valiantly vanquish'd. Now, my spirit is going;
I can no more.
[Dies.

CLEO.

Noblest of men, woo't die ? Hast thou no care of me? shall I abide In this dull world, which in thy absence is No better than a stye ?-O, see my women, The crown o'the earth doth melt:-My lord!O, wither'd is the garland of the war,

The soldier's pole is fallen; young boys, and girls,

Are level now with men: the odds is gone,
And there is nothing left remarkable

Beneath the visiting moon.

[She faints. CHARMIAN. O madam, madam, madam! Royal Egypt's Empress!

CLEO. No more, but e'en a woman; and commanded

By such poor passion as the maid that milks,
And does the meanest chares.-It were for me
To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods;
To tell them, that this world did equal theirs,
Till they had stolen our jewel. All's but
nought;

Patience is sottish; and impatience does
Become a dog that's mad: Then is it sin,
To rush into the secret house of death,

Ere death dare come to us?-How do you, women ?

What, what? good cheer! Why, how now, Charmian?

My noble girls!—Ah, women, women! look, Our lamp is spent, it's out: -Good sirs, take heart:

We'll bury him: and then, what's brave, what's noble,

Let's do it after the high Roman fashion,

And make death proud to take us. Come,

away;

This case of that huge spirit now is cold.

Ah, women, women! come; we have no friend But resolution, and the briefest end.

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA, A. 4, s. 13.

GREAT MEN NEVER DIE. EDWARD. Sweet duke of York, our prop to lean upon;

Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay! O Clifford, boist'rous Clifford, thou hast slain The flower of Europe for his chivalry;

And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him, For, hand to hand, he would have vanquish'd thee!

Now my soul's palace is become a prison:
Ah, would she break from hence! that this my
body

Might in the ground be closed up in rest:
For never henceforth shall I joy again,
Never, O never, shall I see more joy.

RICHARD. I cannot weep; for all my body's

moisture

Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart:

Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burden;

For self-same wind, that I should speak withal, Is kindling coals, that fire all my breast,

And burn me up with flames, that tears would quench.

To weep, is to make less the depth of grief: Tears, then, for babes; blows, and revenge for me!

Richard, I bear thy name, I'll venge thy death, Or die renowned by attempting it.

EDW.

His name that valiant duke hath left with thee;

His dukedom and his chair with me is left. RICH. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird,

Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun :